Gemma…
It is only his voice that I hear. In my dreams, that is all that remains. I reach toward the sound, longing for him to hold me in his arms as he tells me that everything will be alright. I want to touch his face and memorize the exact contours; I never want to forget. My hands grope in the fog; I know he's there, he's there somewhere close… but why isn't he here, next to me? In my dream, I weep. The only comfort offered is the sound of his voice in the wind, repeating my name over and over again.
"You're so cruel." I say, hoping against hope that he will become outraged, and finally reveal himself. Instead, the sound drifts away. The fog lifts, and I find that I am on a beach. Sharp shells cover the shore, but I am safe in the sand. I am not clothed, but somehow it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except for him. "Come to me. Please." I weep. The voice fades into the waves, until it is only a memory.
I stand and wipe the sand off of my bare skin. I tilt my head towards the shore, wondering how far it is. Only a few yards or so. Without thinking, I begin my trek. As I reach the waves slowly, the sound of his voice whispering my name magnifies. When I make it to the shore, he will be there. I know it. I begin to run, run towards him. Except, at the same time, I feel like I am running away from something entirely different. My breath becomes jagged, and I have to stop to catch my breath. When I look up, I see that I have made it to the shore.
And there he is. His hair is wet, the locks matted to his face. He bobs in the water slowly, waving to me. "Gemma, come on! The water's warm!" Ecstatic, I step into the water. A searing pain shoots through my leg like a bullet. I fall, and I hear laughter. A conch shell had pierced my foot. I clench my teeth and pull it out, wincing in pain. Blood oozes from the gash, but I don't care. I am so close to him. So close…
I take another step, and cry out in pain. I find that my other foot was hit by an even sharper shell. I fight back the tears that threaten to fall when I take it out. He is laughing, still. I want to yell at him. I want to kiss him.
Logic and longing mix into one, and I remember a saying that I had heard many times. "Love can overcome any obstacle." Under my breath, I repeat it, over and over again. The mantra takes up every space in my mind until pain is but a memory. I take another step. Another. Every time I do, a new shell pierces my skin. I don't feel it. I don't feel anything but love. "Keep going, Gemma," Kartik calls. I've heard of dreams in which the dreamer runs toward someone, and yet they get farther away. That is not the case here. Kartik is so close now that I can feel his breath.
Right before I am close enough to touch him, the ground falls beneath me, revealing a ditch. I am fine. I know how to swim. I kick towards him, but when I do a sharp spasm of pain shoots through me and I scream my agony. Kartik laughs and laughs and laughs. Tears sting my eyes. I look around me and notice that the beach has become red. The water is clear, and through the blood I can see what's beneath me. Or rather, what isn't. Two stumps replace what should have been my feet. I scream, louder now. In pain and misery and anger at my stupidity. I thrash, not knowing what to do. I smile, though. I am close to Kartik. He will save me. He will make everything alright.
I continue thrashing. "Help!" I yell. I only hear his laughter. Suddenly, I am angry. I want to murder him. I want to grab his throat and strangle him, drown him, anything. Instead, I continue thrashing, until the pain paralyzes me. I sink, down, down, down. I see Kartik's legs kicking healthily in the water, propelling him forward and keeping him alive. I look the other way, and I think I can see hungry crabs crowding around their next meal, their claws clapping. Tonight, they will feast. My foot lays helpless against them on the sand.
I sink further, and the last thing I notice before finally closing my eyes is this: There were no shells.
When I wake, I am sobbing more than I ever have before. The tears form in a puddle on the ground, and I steer clear of them. I walk into the bathroom, but slowly; I can still feel the pain in my foot, still see that bloody remains of it surrounded by hungry animals. I wash my face, not daring to look into the mirror, afraid of what I will see. I don't take a shower.
There is a knock on the door and I make my way to it, slowly. Whoever is on the other side is not patient. The knocks continue until I open it. At first, I don't recognize the person on the other side of the door. And then I realize. It's Seth Colwell, the rude yet charming boy who was the first to greet me on American soil. He doesn't wait for me to invite him in. Instead, he walks over to my bed and plops onto it.
"You've got a nice place here," he says. I tilt my head away. He did not notice my tear-stricken face, and I will keep it that way.
Struggling to keep my voice calm, I say quietly, "What are you doing here." My voice wavers, and I almost stutter.
"I figured I'd pay you a visit. We're friends, right? Friends hang out together." Friends. Hah! If I was in a better mood, I would tell him not to flatter himself.
"We're acquaintances." I say. "That is all. Now, please l-leave me a-alone." … Bloody hell. The stutters wake in me my despair, and I hope he will heed my advice to leave, knowing all the while that he won't. He is upon me in a second. He turns my face toward mine, and I begin to cry again. His eyes are wide. "You… you should leave." I manage to say through my tears.
He shakes his head. His eyes are still wide. Without saying anything, he pulls me into an embrace. Seth Colwell is holding me. Normally I would be disgusted; I barely know him, and he has no reason to touch me so forwardly. … But, now, I feel comforted. We stand together like that for about five minutes, and I break down. I sob against his chest. I shake, but he holds me tight.
It is a strange experience, being cared for by a stranger.
When we separate, I wipe my tears away. I let out a small, choked laugh. "Your shirt… it's drenched. I'm sorry." He looks at me with his big brown eyes.
"You can drench my shirt anytime you want." He says. And that is how Seth Colwell and I became friends.
A/N: So... tell me what you think? It's my dream to become a horror/suspense writer, so I figured I could include a little of that in this story. Dreams are important, by the way! Kartik himself believed in them.
